


Moments Stolen

by IntelligentAirhead



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Violence, Vignette, ableism cw, collection of vignettes really, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntelligentAirhead/pseuds/IntelligentAirhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before they were soldiers, they were kids. More than that, they were people, and people have their ways of reclaiming time.<br/>A collection of snapshots that explores moments that various characters claimed from the war throughout the seventh installment of the Harry Potter series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments Stolen

_September- Hermione_

Hermione tapped the inside of the tent with the tip of her quill. As she drew it across the surface of the yellowed canvas, whatever amounts of ink that didn’t drip to the floor stained the slant of the wall. Her lips quirked. The movement might have flourished into a smile in happier times.

Harry and Ron were asleep. They would not stir for hours if left undisturbed. She could always tell when Ron was about to awaken, as he would begin to toss about in warning before his eyes flickered open. Harry, when he slept without the interruption of nightmares, slumbered as if he would never move again. Hermione often stilled with the fear that he might not wake after all. It was like watching Crookshanks, holding her breath to make sure the cat was still breathing. Every variable was discounted in the face of danger, however. They would all wake up on a moment’s notice, then.

In this instance, Hermione was glad to have the night’s silence to herself. Crouched next to the open space of wall she had cleared, she shivered. Casting a nonverbal heating charm—she had worked for _ages_ on that one—she began to write.

Hermione had intended it to be an exercise in recording things she needed to remember when she ran out of parchment. It still was, in a way. She had simply figured out that there were other things she needed to remember once she started.  She wrote down everything from the brand of toothpaste her parents had always insisted on buying in bulk to the page she had been on in the book she had abandoned in the Hogwarts library when called to leave for what might have been the last time.

More than that, there was magic in claimed ground, in filling a space with memories. By marking the tent as she was, she was imbuing it with the essence of a home, no matter how temporary. It would offer them just a bit more protection, and they needed as much of that as possible.

Hermione worked away at the wall, inking in whatever space she could reach. The discordant snuffling of Ron meshed with Harry’s soft exhales—the sounds produced by her friends; her _family_ —did little to disturb her as she etched their protections into the frame of their new home. No, she mused, signs of life weren’t very good at disconcerting her these days. Merlin knew they all needed the reassurances.

* * *

 

_October- Harry_

 

Astrology hadn’t been Harry’s best subject. He could see the stars clearly enough, and he could make out the constellations with a reasonable amount of squinting and turning about. The problem could be chalked up to his complete and total lack of ability to look at something amazing and turn it into something as impersonal and flat as a chart.

The stars were always there. Harry had spent nights marking down the passage of constellations and the movements of comets at Hogwarts, but that didn’t change the fact that the stars never moved. It was the earth that kept spinning underneath them that changed the way the sky looked. There was comfort in that, he thought. The stars wouldn’t suddenly stop watching on a whim. Even if they did decide to spontaneously burst out of existence, Harry was sure it wouldn’t be due to boredom.

“We make for some upsetting entertainment, don’t we?” He locked his gaze onto a bright mass at the tail of Ursa Major. “I bet you wish you could just blink for a moment to take it all in.” His lips pursed into a grim sort of smile. “You could wish on yourself, maybe. Not sure that it’s allowed, but I could make the wish for you if you’d like.” A moment’s silence dragged his hands up to his face.

He was talking to stars. He really hoped this was a side effect of over-extended camping trips and not over-extended mental strain. Perhaps it counted as communing with nature.

An owl’s hoot was all it took to remind Harry that finding peace with the world wasn’t quite so easy when he was ready to jump behind a stump and hex anything that moved at the first hint of trouble.

His heart racing, Harry resumed his vigil. Hermione and Ron had been getting along well enough when he had escaped the tent, so he probably still had two intact friends. He knew where they were, and he knew where the stars were. Really, it was more certainty than anyone could expect these days.

Harry even knew where Sirius was, he thought with no small amount of bitter amusement. The star, much like the person, was out of sight and beyond reach. He nearly laughed as he realized Draco loomed in the sky like a bad omen. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a trail of haphazard clues to pursue and a deep-seated longing for some sense of normalcy, but Circe forbid he ever be allowed to forget that his allies were no where to be seen and his pursuers everywhere he looked.  

Harry rolled his eyes, making an obscene gesture towards the offending constellation as he did so. “See if I ever wish for a moment’s peace for you.”

He leaned back on his makeshift seat. Sirius might have approved of that one.

* * *

 

_November- Ron_

 

Bill and Fleur weren’t fond of disguising their emotions. Ron had appreciated the effort, really, he had. They were just really bad at masking their disapproval, although it was a relief that they weren’t all that quiet about it. Silent grudges never did any good for anyone. Hermione’s silent treatment had lasted for weeks in third year, and the bit with Harry had gone on for ages in fourth. Fleur was quite insistent on her complaints being issued with enough force that Ron had the rather horrifying image of his mother with a shock of blonde hair fixed in his mind. Still, he couldn’t blame her or Bill, seeing as he was well aware of how much he deserved a dirty look or two. Honestly, who abandoned their friends in a forest?

Hermione and Harry could have died within a few hours of his departure. They hadn’t, of course. The other side would be sure to advertise it if they had. Still, it was a right terrible thing to have done, abandoning them.  He’d tried to find them again, but it was a pointless task after all the effort they had put into being untraceable.

With no solution in sight, Ron did the only thing he could. He wallowed. He did this without venturing much outside of the guestroom, as Bill was just as likely to reprimand him as Fleur was to unleash a muttered stream of disapproving French if he moped about in front of them for another minute. Regret, he had determined, was not only an unsubtle emotion, but also highly inconvenient for any witnesses.

Ron sighed, sinking deeper into the hard-backed chair he had set in front of the wizard’s chess set. “I don’t see what they expect me to do about it,” he muttered. “I can’t exactly point at a map and find them in an instant.” He fidgeted in his seat, rapping the arm of the chair with his knuckles. He looked down at the chess pieces, hoping they might have settled since he last touched them. There was no such luck.

The pieces kept murmuring amongst themselves; kept shooting him worried looks; kept watching.  Ron had been irritated at their agitation at first, but he had quickly become resigned to the fact that he was doomed to distress pretty much everyone.

“Alright, alright. Try, try again until you go bloody bonkers with only chess pieces left to worry about you.” Rubbing at his nose, he ran through the trends he, Hermione, and Harry had followed when they switched hiding places.

There must have been some way to find Hermione and Harry, hadn’t there? The Death Eaters may not have had a chance, but Ron knew them. Then again, maybe he hadn’t. He hadn’t even considered their words before he up and left, after all.

He chastened himself. This seemed to happen every time Ron allowed himself a moment to consider the possibilities. He’d spiral downwards into a thousand hypotheticals and regrets. It wasn’t worth it, and it got bugger-all done. The problem was that he couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe he could catch a break if he just let himself relax a bit.

He glanced out the window, hoping that it was almost dinnertime. There was no such luck, however. Bright light was still streaming through the slatted windowpane, illuminating the worn chess pieces. Sighing, he turned back to capture a bishop. Wizard’s chess wasn’t nearly as fun without an opponent. Even the muffled whisperings of the chess pieces were disturbing, as they’d be calling out to his opponent by now.

The pieces didn’t often offer much advice to him anymore, anyway. Harry had usually needed it, seeing as he was pants at chess, but Ron’s set tended to trust him. That wasn’t so comforting when there wasn’t anyone else to talk to.

After so long with only the murmur of conferring pieces, it was fairly surprising, then, when the pawn he had used to attack the bishop piped up.

“You can’t be sure of the right move every single time.” It paused for a moment, peering up at him to check if he was listening. “Sometimes you lose pieces you should have kept, or you can’t defend ‘em properly. Sometimes… well, quite a few times you end up having made a few mistakes that you can fix quick enough, if you try. Sometimes you can’t fix ‘em at all. Maybe your mistakes freed up some opportunities to win later on. You can’t know the right moves all the time. That’s just some advice from an old chess piece, mind.”  The piece, stiffening as if embarrassed, returned to glaring at the opposing side of the board.

Ron gaped. It was a good thing that the pawn didn’t seem to expect a response, as every coherent reply Ron could think of had taken leave. Still, Ron’s mum had brought him up to show gratitude to those that helped him. “Uh… Thanks? Thank you.”

“T’wasn’t a problem.”

The pawn could have just left him alone, so it was worthier of thanks than most things. Still, Ron nodded decisively to end the moment’s awkward fumbling. He reached into his pocket to rub the Deluminator’s cool metal.

He’d find Hermione and Harry. He’d make things right, somehow.

* * *

      

_December- Draco_

 

Draco was of the opinion that Crabbe and Goyle were altogether too enthusiastic about the idea of capturing any ruminant given to staying out past curfew. They were excelling in lessons for once in their lives, and they were eager to find some practical application for their knowledge. He understood their motivations well enough. The reality, however, was far more unpleasant.

       Blood, dripping from wounds inflicted by blades and curses alike, was reality. Sun that still gave the stones a radiant cast even as it illuminated the students that walked with their faces pinched and their heads down was reality. Recycling _Crucios_ down from teacher to student to student was reality. Reality was a constant sheen of sweat brought on by anxiety. Reality was knowing that one could be wrong all along, but realizing that that knowledge meant nothing. Reality was looking at your friends, understanding that they had followed you down the darkest road, and looking on in numb horror when they decided they liked the feel of it.

       Still, Draco understood. He continued to understand even as Goyle practically crowed at the thought of catching the unfortunate Hufflepuff that had dared to make plans with her friend in the hallway that afternoon. Crabbe’s habit of lurking about and spying could nearly rival Potter’s.

       “Perhaps we would actually be able to find the creature if we were to spread out and cover more ground,” he drawled. Crabbe and Goyle traded dark looks before conceding.

       “Alright,” Goyle said, “but if you find the ‘puff, I want to dole out the punishment.”

       “But of course,” Draco replied, shrugging. He slunk off, and within a few minutes he had found the nook most favored by the younger students. Although it appeared to be solid rock from the outside, it proved to be a roomy alcove once one slid into it. Most desirable of its traits, however, was its view of an expansive painting that revealed a grassy landscape surrounded by trees. One by one, stones would layer over the ground and one another. If one had an hour or three to spare, an interested party could see Hogwarts slowly rise from the dust. It could only be seen from that specific alcove; otherwise, the grass would remain free of masonry.

       Draco had been introduced to it within a week of his duties as prefect, experience that proved useful later on. He sneered into the expanse of wall for a moment. “If I should reach my hand in here to find some Mudblood filth having a go at shirking curfew, I will not hesitate to _Crucio_ the fool.”

       With that, Draco strode off, rounding the corner before casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself. Peering around the corner served him a glimpse of a terrified looking second year rushing off towards the kitchens. So Hufflepuffs weren’t completely dense. He grimaced.

       That was his good deed for the year, then. Saint Potter had nothing on him, obviously. The strangled noise that escaped him might have been a laugh as he marched back to inform Crabbe and Goyle that Longbottom had orchestrated another campaign against the establishment in the form of rescuing Mudblood Hufflepuffs from their due.

* * *

     

_January- Ginny and Neville_

 

Sparks flew from the cards, singing Ginny’s sleeve. She snorted. “Neville, I hope you know that if I catch fire, I can’t do much reconnaissance later. It’d just be too much of a hassle to go about eavesdropping while hiding the flames.”

Neville grinned up from his cards, tapping a matching pair with his wand. “I think you’d be fine, they’d just figure you were growing out your hair.”

Ginny snorted, wiggling her wand. “Funny, Longbottom. Just wait ‘til your back’s turned. Bogies will fly and you will regret _everything_.”

“Sorry, sorry. I apologize. I was out of line,” Neville backtracked, grimacing.

“Quite right. Wait a second, I don’t think that’s a match.”

“Of course it is! Look, it’s the same shape and color and everything,” Neville protested, examining the pair of cards he had just claimed.

“Nah,” Ginny mused, eyeing the cards that displayed identical pictures of horned slugs. She waved her wand, replacing the image of one with a depiction of Snape. “There we are. Perfect twins.”

Neville nearly fell over with laughter. Several of the kids who had taken refuge in the Room of Requirement looked up from their activities with a few raised eyebrows and snickers before returning to their business.

Ginny grinned, pleased up until the cards exploded in a shower of sparks once more. “Merlin! I thought the warzone was outside!”

It only took a moment for Neville to sober after that proclamation. “Exploding Snap is a bit like war, if you think about it,” he remarked. “Lay down your cards and watch the sparks go off.”  

“In that case, pardon me if I find fighting with you more fun than with You-Know-Who,” Ginny muttered, her lips twisting on the words as if they were rotten.

There was a long, terse moment. “I’ll take it as a compliment,” Neville said. The wry expression on his face wouldn’t have fit him a year or more back. Now cuts, bruises, and burns accentuated it, the same marks that most inhabitants of the room bore. It was as if experience and pain had burned something far more permanent than any Dark Mark into their minds and hearts, cauterizing the wounds as they were inflicted.

Ginny inclined her head towards the cards, acknowledging that they would go back to pretending they had the ability to have this break from the terror consuming their lives. She forgave him for bringing the war into their brief respite just as he forgave her.

Neville let a genuine smile play upon his face as he turned his focus back to the shuffling deck of cards before him. “How many points did each of us have?”

“Who knows?” Ginny shrugged, prompting a laugh out of Neville.

“Alright,” he pronounced, “let’s start round seven, then. May the best player win.”

 


End file.
